


We Belong (we belong awake)

by dls



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Crossover, Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Morning After, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls
Summary: Each chapter is a stand-alone ficlet, less than 500 words, featuring Arthur and Eames.Mostly fluffy, oftentimes smutty, and seldom angsty.Ch. 1: Arthur was beautiful first thing in the morning.Ch. 2: Eames was forever fascinated by Arthur.Ch. 3: Eames hated it when arseholes leered at Arthur, his darling only needed one leering arsehole in his life and that spot was taken already.Ch. 4: Violence wasn't the only way to militarize a mind. Why kill when an orgasm would do? A smutty twist on the "Eames meeting Arthur's projection before meeting him in person" trope.Ch. 5: It started with Arthur asking Eames to be gentle. Eames never thought it would end the same way.Ch. 6: Lifeguard!Arthur. Enough said.Ch. 7: I wish I can say there is plot but it's really just smut.Ch. 8: Eames loved to gamble but Arthur wasn't bluffing. A break-up fic.





	1. Up at Dawn (just to see your face)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyVader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVader/gifts).



> For the lovely LadyVader, who has ~~enabled~~ encouraged my descent into the Inception fandom (WE MUST GO DEEPER!). 
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  Titles from "Fire Escape" by Andrew McMahon.   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur was beautiful first thing in the morning. 
> 
> (Fluff, Morning After)

The early sunlight bathed Arthur in a metallic shimmer; the bronze in his dark hair and the copper in his brown eyes and the gold in his skin. 

Eames wanted to keep him like a dragon hoarded its treasure. "Good morning, darling." The term of endearment fell from his lips as instinctive as breathing. 

_Inhale._

_Pet._

_Exhale._

"Hey." Arthur's face broke into a wide grin with dimples creasing his cheeks. His voice was scratchy with sleep, unlike last night's growl of blurred syllables but just as effective at making Eames' heart feel too big for his rib cage. 

_Inhale._

_Sweetheart._

_Exhale._

Eames wanted to scoop up that happiness with cupped palms and hook his thumbs into those dimples and never let go. Not even when they were both bloody and torn down and broken into pieces. He liked to think that their jagged edges would fit together smoothly. "You staying for breakfast?" Despite his best effort to keep his tone casual, noncommittal, the question came out too quiet; a whispered plea.

_Inhale._

_Love._

_Exhale._

Arthur raised his arms above his head in a stretch that lifted his back off of the bed in a deep arch, head falling back and showing off the love bites adorned his throat. "If you don't mind?" The sharp gleam in his gaze said he was aware that they weren't just talking about this morning.

_Inhale._

_Dearest._

_Exhale._

"Wouldn't have asked if I minded." Eames pointed out, his lips pulling up into an involuntary smile. Fitting, really, falling for Arthur had never been a conscious choice; an impulsive gamble that was founded in faith instead of luck. The same faith that was making him bold, laying all of his cards on the table with the confidence of having a winning hand. "Stay as long as you like."

"I think I will, provided breakfast is up to par, of course." The corners of Arthur's eyes crinkled, softening his contemplative expression into something a little coy and a lot pleased.

Eames vowed then and there to recreate this look as often as possible, starting with a proper kiss to start the day then some truly excellent coffee and possibly a joint shower before they found their way back to the rumpled sheets.


	2. You Might Be From the Moon or Mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames was forever fascinated by Arthur. 
> 
> (Fluff, Established Relationship)

The team stopped for lunch at noon, following the precise work flow schedule on the wall. Eames might have spent more minutes than he cares to admit remembering the flex of Arthur's thumb as he pinned the piece of paper, color-coded and arranged in thirty minute increments. It was beyond ridiculous that such a fleeting movement lingered on his mind, he wanted to sink his teeth into the soft finger pad the way the plastic had and trace the curve of the meticulously trimmed nail with his tongue.

And not even in a way that would lead to other body parts being bitten and kissed and licked, though there had been plenty of that, Eames just wanted to taste the swirls of Arthur's fingerprint.

A shocking discovery that had, once again, reaffirmed his theory that Arthur was an intricate puzzle, one that Eames couldn't possibly solve but would gladly spend the rest of his life trying.

Which, as the impatient purse of Arthur's lips warned, might be shorter than Eames had hoped if he didn't start paying attention.

"What was that, dearest?"

"I need to finish going over these financials." Arthur was such a bloody hypocrite, exempting himself from the rules he had set out for the team, and Eames really shouldn't be endeared by this unbecoming personality trait as he was. "Can you bring something back for me?"

"Of course, what would you like?"

Arthur had already returned to the stacks of bank statements, lifting one shoulder in a shrug that would be dismissive if Eames wasn't aware of what a sign of trust it was. "You know what I like."

"I do, darling." Eames let a bit of teasing seep into his tone. "But I also know how you get when you don't get exactly what you want."

"Then I suppose it's in your best interest to delight rather than disappoint me, Mr. Eames." The way Arthur's mouth curved around the words should come with a warning, judging by the way Eames' heartrate picked up from only a profile view of it.

"How charmingly vague." Eames noted dryly. "Whatever happened to specificity?"

The only answer he got was an enigmatic arch of Arthur's fine eyebrows and a flash of dimples, a combination of challenge and encouragement that had Eames suddenly motivated in a way he couldn't quite explain.

It was quite a mystery.


	3. A Million City Lights (but you're number one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames hated it when arseholes leered at Arthur, his darling only needed one leering arsehole in his life and that spot was taken already. 
> 
> (Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Singing)
> 
> Inspired by [JGL's cover of Ignition](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FzD41pWIzo). Best viewed when seated because the chances of swooning are high, especially around the 3:15 mark.

Eames didn't deserve this.

"I agree." Ariande replied distractedly, her attention devoted to the singer in the same fervent and slightly unnerving manner the rest of the crowd had. "Because there's no way you've done anything good enough to deserve Arthur."

"Oy!" Eames cried, deeply offended. "Not what I meant."

"He didn't deserve Arthur before he got on stage." Cobb pointed out because he was a dick.

Yusuf, the traitor, nodded. "Further proof that the universe is unfair."

_I'm about to take my key and stick it in your ignition._

The retort evaporated on Eames' tongue, his mouth turning dry.

Bright lights capture the flush on Arthur's cheeks and the sheen on his forehead. Eames wanted to lick up every drop, taste the salt on Arthur's skin and suck sticky kisses down the long line of Arthur's throat as he crooned out line after line of blatant proposition to his captivated audience.

Arthur was hitting these impossibly high notes with the same little furrow between his eyebrows that he got when Eames whispered filth into his ear, promises of dirtying him up and licking him clean. Jesus, why hadn't security stepped in yet? Impressionable minds and censorship and rules of polite society and all.

_Take it to your room and start to freak with somebody._

The corners of Arthur's lips curled up into a smirk, the only warning Eames had before he picked up the pace, elegant fingers flying over the guitar and flashes of tongue peeking out in between the fast tumble of words.

Arthur pitched his voice lower, gravelly and primal, a vibration that Eames longed to feel rumbling in his ear, against his throat, and around his cock. His ill-fitted trousers had gone from uncomfortable to cutting off blood flow. The worst part was that he had no one but himself to blame for his darling being the object of too many people's fantasies.

_Bouncing up and down, stroke it round and round._

Right then and there, Eames vowed to never dare Arthur to sing in public again.

In private, however, that was an entirely different matter.


	4. Big Ideas Filled Empty Bars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence wasn't the only way to militarize a mind. Why kill when an orgasm would do? A smutty twist on the "Eames meeting Arthur's projection before meeting him in person" trope. 
> 
> (Implied Sexual Content, Crossover)
> 
> _Queer as Folk (US)_ crossover because Brian Kinney's mind is perfect for this militarization.

While he enjoyed the challenges of more complicated jobs, Eames preferred the simpler ones. Like this extraction from an advertising executive who was a bit of a sexual celebrity.

Eames planned to approach Kinney wearing a t-shirt bearing the logo of the hotel chain whose contract the client and Kinney were vying for. Kinney's attempts of seducing Eames should mirror his strategy to win over the client.

Simple.

Or so Eames had thought until he stepped into the dream and found the dreamscape populated with far too many people wearing far too little.

Bodies writhed together, sliding smoothly against sweat-slicked skin that glittered under the neon lights. Moans filled the space, spilling and echoing from swollen lips in a primal feedback loop. The air was thick with the taste of sex, sweet and tangy and the faintest hint of bitter, clinging to his skin and heating his blood.

An orgy.

Eames made a valiant effort to pull his hazy thoughts together and locate Kinney in the crowd.

He had a job to do.

By the time he made his way to Kinney, Eames had lost his clothing to stroking hands and his cock was stiff with desperation. Any sense of accomplishment fled when he found himself panting half-formed words that had nothing to do with stealing marketing campaigns and everything to do with the dark-haired man crawling off of Kinney's lap and toward Eames.

Long limbs and pale skin and sharp eyes.

The only thing in focus for Eames in this room of blurry shapes.

Before he could analyze whether the tingle down his spine was arousal or danger, Eames found himself sheathed in wet heat with just the right amount of teeth as the dream collapsed.

*

Eames slipped out of Kinney's loft with as much dignity as - very little - his sticky trousers afforded.

He fed the client a very convincing and noble lie of how they could save some money hiring a team of hackers than a dream thief, citing a guilty conscience that didn't exist.

*

Kinney must have been militarized and the dark-haired man was his head of security, kicking Eames from the dream via an orgasm. 

Clearly, the best way to pay compliments to the devious mind who came up with this unorthodox militarization was to wrap a hand around himself and replay the scene of cheeks creased with dimples stretching to smoothness as thin lips swallowed him down.

*

The best point man in the business certainly looked the part, useful but boring like the pages of research he presented.

Eames' opinion of Arthur as a stick-in-the-mud didn't change until their sixth job together, when he ended a lively discussion of unconventional kicks with a single word.

"Orgasms." Arthur drawled and seemed amused when the extractor and architect hastily excused themselves to test that theory. There was something familiar in the tempting curve of his mouth.

"Ever been to Pittsburgh, darling?"

Arthur's answer was a dimpled smile.


	5. We Tore That Dance Hall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with Arthur asking Eames to be gentle. Eames never thought it would end the same way. 
> 
> (Angst, Breaking Up)

"I'm asking you to be gentle with me, Mr. Eames." Arthur smiled, sweet and a little mischievous, dimples creasing his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. "It's my first time dating a colleague."   
  
Eames reached out and cupped Arthur's face in both palms, fingers trembling with joy and fear. How wonderful it was to touch when he had only allowed himself to look for so long. How terrifying it was that he instantly wanted more, to keep and never let go, to think that he could call Arthur his. "Of course, darling." 

*  
  
"I asked you to be gentle with me, Mr. Eames." Arthur winced as he smiled, a small and brittle curve so sharp that it hurt Eames to see.

"I tried." It was both an admission and defense of his failure to be the one thing, the only thing, Arthur asked him for.

"I know." Arthur didn't say that Eames' tries weren't enough but he had never been one to waste time pointing out the obvious. His smile deepened into something that could be fond if it wasn't so sad.

Eames wished desperately that he could be someone else, someone different, someone better who wouldn't have put that look on Arthur's face. The impossibility of it filled him with grief, leaving him feeling strangely hollow. "We can try again-"

Arthur's flinch made him bite back the rest of that sentence, the selfish offer that wasn't a promise to be gentle but a request for Arthur to let Eames hurt him again. Because Arthur would and had, time and time again, even when he shouldn't. Especially when he shouldn't.

"Sorry." Eames shoved his hands into his pockets, digging his nails into the meat of his thighs so he wouldn't claw at Arthur in a desperate attempt to hold on to what had already slipped through his fingers in broken pieces.

"We can't keep doing this, Eames, I won't be able to put myself back together if we keep doing this." Arthur sighed, shoulders slump and eyes closed. He looked tired. "Please, be gentle with me and let me go."

Fear rose in Eames' throat, tasting differently this time. It had been a sour thing, before, all those times he had pushed Arthur away or taken off in the middle of the night when he was overwhelmed by his need for Arthur. Like drowning. He had fought against the currents and kicked his way to the surface, only to dive down once again when he couldn't breathe. A metaphor that made as little sense as the back-and-forth of their relationship.   
  
No, fear was a bitterness roiling in his gut and churning in his chest. Absolute and final. He closed his eyes, denying himself the one last chance to look as punishment for breaking what he had touched. "Of course, darling."


	6. Let's Hang an Anchor from the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lifeguard!Arthur. Enough said. 
> 
> (Fluff, Getting Together)

"What?" Eames croaked, wondering where all the air has gone.

Cobb squinted at him. "You're looking a bit pink, did you put on sunscreen?"

No, Eames hadn't because he had only planned on informing Cobb and Arthur, working surveillance detail, that the client changed her mind before retreating to his room, far, far away from the horde of screaming children splashing in the pool. That was until he caught sight of Arthur.

His original thought of Arthur, sweaty and flushed and delicious, in a three-piece suit seemed ridiculous in hindsight. Of course the best point in the business would know how to blend in with his surroundings but never in his wildest imagination did he picture Arthur posing as a lifeguard.

For all he liked to tease Arthur about dreaming bigger, he should have taken his own advice.

Arthur shifted in his chair, easing out of his slouched position and leaning forward with his elbows digging into his thighs and his hands clasped between his knees.

Eames wanted to bite his bony wrists and tongue the delightful indent of his bellybutton and follow the trail of dark hair into his tiny swim trunks, the flash of red vibrant and vivid against pale skin. He knew he was staring and should look away but he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of Arthur since the day the met so why would today or any day forward be different?

Sensing the attention, Arthur tilted his head in Eames' direction. "Can I help you?" His tone was the false friendly timbre of someone new to customer service. They were supposed to be strangers, after all.

Except they weren't. Not after years of sleeping side by side, innocent despite the criminality of what they did and intimate because they knew each other's fears before they knew each other's pleasure.

Eames nodded without thinking, higher functions overwhelmed by the smell of chlorine or maybe just the proximity to Arthur, tinted gold in the sunlight and so lovely.

Smooth muscles flexed as Arthur climbed off of the chair, long legs graceful and silver whistle bouncing between pink nipples. "What's going on?" His mouth slanted with worry.

"Everything's fine. Job's off." Eames said hurriedly, determined to soothe the frown away. His heart hammered in his chest. "Have dinner with me. Please." He added belatedly. Sincerely. No games and no tricks. Some things couldn't be stolen or forged, they had to be earned.

"You sure you wouldn't rather skip dinner? I've already got my clothes off." Arthur's gaze was considering behind his sunglasses. His lips quirked up, amused but wary. "Seems inefficient."

"Darling, I don't care about efficiency. I care about doing it right." Eames said fondly, cards on the table and heart on his sleeve.

Arthur's smile softened, pleased and happy. "I get off at five, if you don't mind waiting."

"Not at all, love." Eames beamed. "I'll just wait here and enjoy the view."


	7. Drinking from the Wishing Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I can say there is plot but it's really just fluffy smut.
> 
> (Fluff and Smut)

They had been at this for a while now, Eames' knees bracketing Arthur's head on the pillow while he fed Arthur his cock, slow and leisurely, the vein on the underside dragging over Arthur's tongue. This was, in Eames' opinion, the best way to spend a lazy morning, fresh off of the high from the job, just the way Eames liked, and a whole ocean away from the unknowing but could turn suspicious mark, exactly what Arthur preferred.

Long minutes spent on foreplay and hours taken to shatter themselves apart and put back together with pieces of each other. 

Or that was how it was supposed to go.

Until the realization that this gorgeous man - whose heavy-lidded eyes were trained on Eames, whose slick fingers were stretching himself open as he sated his need to taste, and whose heart was a heavily-armored and closed-guarded vault but he had given Eames a key to - was all his slammed into Eames' chest, knocking him off-balance and pushing him to the pleasurable edge. Like the strike of a match, the warm flutters of his heart flared to white-hot desire at the base of his spine. Eames tried to stop it, withdrawing hastily but all that managed was spilling into his own hand instead of Arthur's mouth. 

Arthur blinked, surprised and flattered but also slightly disappointed because he had made it clear that he wanted to feel Eames inside him. Slowly, he eased his fingers out of himself and reached for his own hardness, flushed and wet at the tip. 

"None of that, darling" Eames huffed, falling back against the other pillows and pulling Arthur on top of him. He steadied his still-hard length, the blasted refractory period thankfully hadn't kicked in just yet, and urged Arthur to sink down on him. "I've got you." In all the ways, now and forever. 

Eyes fluttering closed, Arthur took all of Eames in one smooth motion. 

Gritting his teeth, Eames' his hips twitched with over-sensitization, little jolts of movement against the one spot that had Arthur panting for more. Frantic, needy, and all his. Eames wrapped the hand coated with his own release around Arthur's hardness, twisting his wrist on every downstroke and tightening his grip on the way up. "C'mon, darling." He crooned as the slide becomes smoother and messier with how Arthur was absolutely leaking. "Come for me. Let me see."

Arthur did so moments later, with a lovely shudder up his spine and an even better sob on his lips, tightening so deliciously that Eames almost thought he could go for another round until his biology informed him otherwise. His softened cock slipped out when Arthur slumped over, sweaty and panting with his face tucked in the curve of Eames' shoulder. 

They stayed like this, breathing together and holding onto each other with a gentleness that used to frighten Eames but now he adored. 

"That was-" Arthur cleared his throat, pushing himself up on shaky elbows that Eames wanted to kiss. "-unexpected. I'm impressed." 

"Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated." Eames quirked an eyebrow, reciting one their earlier exchanges, and earned himself a smile that creased Arthur's cheeks and crinkled his eyes. 


	8. Like Beggars in the Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames loved to gamble but Arthur wasn't bluffing. A break-up fic. 
> 
> (Break Up)

"I'll be back in the morning to get my stuff. If you don't want to see me, don't be here." Despite the tension stiffening his back and rippling across his shoulders, Arthur's hand on the door was steady, like his tone, as he pulled it closed behind him.

Eames narrowed his eyes and, after a moment's consideration, decided to call Arthur's bluff. Shrugging on a coat that was a shade too bright and a side too big, he headed out as well.

Two could play at this game.

*

As he checked into the hotel on the opposite end of the city they had tried to make a home in, Eames imagined Arthur's frown when he realized that his ploy hadn't worked, that Eames hadn't stuck around to change his mind, that Eames hadn't spent the night there either.

What would Arthur do?

Would he send a terse text announcing his arrival, indirectly asking Eames to come back? Would he leave behind one of his many ties on purpose, a poor excuse to reconnect later? Would he finally participate in this tug-of-war of a relationship instead of letting the rope slip through his uncaring grasp?

This was just a bit of a paradox that Arthur was going to appreciate later, once they got themselves sorted and he could see that Eames had to push him away to get him to pull closer.

*

Eames returned to their shared flat two minutes after noon. Morning was officially over and he couldn't wait to see what clues Arthur had left behind. The lack of text had been disappointing but unsurprising. Arthur was never good with words that weren't data or directions. It was a good thing that Eames was fluent in body language. 

As soon as he stepped into the living room, a chill crawled down his spine. The space felt empty, cold, and not just because the ridiculous expensive cashmere throw Arthur favored was missing from Eames' reupholstered couch.

Half of the books, the pretentious ones Eames loved to tease Arthur about, were gone from the shelves.

Tiny espresso cups disappeared along with the sleek machinery Arthur cooed at every morning.

The monochromatic sheets were replaced with the mismatched floral Eames hadn't seen in months because Arthur refused to go anywhere near it.

Rows of bespoke suits and slim-fit shirts and tailored trousers vanished from the closet.

Bloody hell, the fastidious arsehole had even taken the hooks he had installed in the bathroom, leaving Eames' towel in a heap on the floor.

Eames sank down onto his knees, legs weak and heart beating too fast.

Arthur wasn't bluffing.

**Author's Note:**

> [dls-ao3.tumblr.com](https://dls-ao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
